when love takes you in (everything changes)
by unknownbananna
Summary: The first night in a new place is always the hardest. In an unfamiliar bedroom that's supposed to be theirs, Harley and Peter steal a moment alone to talk things over. (Or, the beginning of Harley and Peter's story as Tony Stark's adopted sons.) (Part 1 of the everything changes series.)


Harley isn't surprised when his door creaks open. The hallway lights illuminate Peter's silhouette as he slips in, heavy quilt draped over his too-baggy sleep shirt accentuating the jut of his jaw and the sharpness of his collarbone. Harley lets a smile ghost across his face. "Weird day, huh?" he murmurs wryly, and Peter crosses the room like that was the invitation he was waiting for. 

"Good weird or bad weird?" Peter asks, hopping onto the bed next to Harley and curling up with his knees pressed to his chest. The older boy scootches over obligingly—it's not as if there isn't enough room on his king-size bed—and offers his foster brother a shrug. 

"We're out of that hellhole. Iron Man is our foster dad. We ate dinner tonight. 'S good so far." 

"You're worried about something." 

It's not a question. It doesn't need to be—Peter knows Harley well enough to be able to tell when something's wrong. And, unfortunately, Peter knows Harley well enough that he won't be able to lie to him. He never has been. 

"I'm always worried," he offers with a light shrug. "World hasn't been kind to us so far. No reason it should suddenly start now." 

"But the paperwork's all been taken care of!" Peter protests. They keep their voices low in the hopes of not drawing unwelcome attention. "Mr. Stark's rich; his lawyers are the best—there's no way they can take us away." 

Harley gives Peter a small smile—a melancholy turning up at the corner of his mouth that Peter's used to seeing when Harley doesn't want to upset him. And Harley doesn't. Because for all the ways the world has hurt Peter, he's never been abandoned the way Harley has, and Harley hopes to any God that might exist that he never will be. "Not really what I'm worried about, Peter," he says gently. 

Peter is an open book for anyone who knows him well to read. Right now, he's a cross between confused and stricken. "But he's—we're—" he bites his lip. "He doesn't know what to do with kids, sure, but—Mr. Stark wouldn't hit us—we're safe here…" he trails off, and Harley hears the unspoken right? clear as day. He doesn't meet Peter's eyes. 

"He seems to like us well enough, so far," he says neutrally. "But he's got PTSD. Used to be a drunk. 'N his dad was mean." 

"That doesn't mean he will be. He never was with me." 

"How do you know he won't be?" Harley counters. "He took away your suit that time. Bet his old man used to take a belt to him, too." 

Peter buries his head in his knees, and Harley belatedly realizes that he'd upset his brother. "Please stop," the younger boy pleads, voice muffled, and Harley is instantly full of remorse. Tony Stark was Peter's childhood hero and his superhero mentor, a strength and a hope Peter held onto when things were their worst. Harley should've left well enough alone. And he hates to hear Peter beg. 

Tongue-tied and awkward, Harley reaches over to rest a hand on Peter's back between his shoulder blades. "I'm sorry, Peter," he says sincerely. "I shouldn't've said that." 

Peter turns his head, still resting on his knees, so that he's looking at Harley 

"He wouldn't do that," Peter insists, earnest. 

Harley wishes he could believe like Peter. 

"I hope he wouldn't," he says instead of agreeing. He can't agree. Not yet. He and Peter have been burned too many times for Harley to trust anyone right away, not even Iron Man. Not even the hero who'd saved Harley's life. But Peter is open and honest and trusting still, after everything, and if he won't guard himself and his heart then Harley will do it for him. He's not sure he could bear to see Peter's heart break if Tony Stark turned out to be like the rest. 

They've had enough heartbreak for a million lifetimes. 

Instead of replying, Peter lays down and curls himself into a tight ball on his side, still wrapped in his blanket. Harley mirrors him, lying down facing Peter. They're quiet for a long moment. In the dark and the silence it feels like the two of them against the world, and Harley is tired of losing. 

At last, Peter reaches out and wraps a gentle hand around Harley's wrist. "You always look after us," he whispers, and Harley doesn't know why but he feels anxiety swirl up in his chest. "But Harley—this could be good. Something good might happen. And, if it does—" he squeezes Harley's wrist lightly— "please, let it. Because you deserve for good things to happen to you, too." 

Harley is frozen for several seconds before he regains control of himself. It's not that he thinks he and Peter don't deserve good things—they aren't bad people, and he's certain you'd have to be a pretty terrible person to deserve what they've lived—he just thinks they don't get them. The world gives some people love and home and futures, and he and Peter had had all that but then they had hungry bellies and scars from a belt and nothing except each other. And now...now, Harley isn't sure what they have. 

Distantly, he remembers Mr. Jennison. Nobody wants teenagers. No one cares about orphans. Should be grateful we even feed you. It's either us or the streets. Waste of money. You really think someone'll take you both? Nobody wants you. 

That's the crux of it, isn't it? Harley doesn't believe that Tony Stark will hit them, not really—but that Tony Stark would leave them? That, he's sure of. Billionaires don't just adopt kids out of pity because they found them locked in a closet somewhere. How long before this billionaire gets tired of them? Before he finds a new pet project and leaves Harley and Peter adrift in the system? They won't stay together, Harley knows that. Things are good tonight. But how long before they're separated and abandoned to fend for themselves?

Harley doesn't voice any of his thoughts. He disentangles his wrist from Peter's fingers and reaches over to curl his hand into Peter's blanket, like it can keep him from drifting away. "We should get some sleep," he murmurs. Peter nods. He looks old. 

Peter doesn't ask to stay, and Harley doesn't ask him not to leave. But both boys stay curled on the bed anyway, burrito-wrapped in their spare quilts but by unspoken agreement on top of the neatly made covers. (Harley already knows they're a psychologist's dream case study. He doesn't need any more reminders.) Harley doesn't remove his fist from where it's curled into Peter's blanket, and Peter scoots a little closer to Harley in the middle of the bed. Peter's asleep within minutes. 

Harley lies awake for a while longer. It feels like a lifetime ago that he and Peter were going to sleep in the Jennisons' Home for Boys. But that was barely twenty-four hours ago, and if he closes his eyes it still feels like he's there. So he keeps them open. 

The thing is that he and Peter are different. They both know it. When Harley's mama died, when Sadie was adopted, when they transferred him to the Home, he built a fort around himself and hid inside it and the only one allowed in was Peter. Because they both knew (were constantly reminded) that nobody wanted teenagers, so it was better not to hope. Except that Peter did, because he didn't know how to stop. He's not naive—not anymore—and heaven knows he's not innocent. Not like some wide-eyed child who's never seen how brutal the world is. But he's hopeful. They couldn't beat that out of him. Harley isn't sure he wants to find out what could take that away from Peter—he just knows he doesn't want him to get hurt because of it. 

Harley falls asleep thinking that maybe he doesn't want to get hurt, either. 

(Two years later, when Harley is eighteen and the man he calls Dad still gives him a hug and a kiss goodnight and tells him how much he loves him, Harley thinks back on that night and smiles because this is their good thing and it belongs to him, too.)


End file.
